I was betrayed. He still doesn’t think so, but I was. My stomach churned, my head swirled. I’m officially worn, torn, and tattered. He told me that if I had done that with my something, he would have been pissed, furious even. And for him that’s acceptable, for me, it’s exaggerating. But it’s okay, he was just my best friend, not my boyfriend or anything, which obviously gives me less rights than the average person. I wouldn’t be nearly as hurt if I had gotten my alone time. If he had just left me alone like I asked it would have been okay. But he had to decide to get smashed and hang on me, hold me, tell me how much he loves me more than her, insist I stay with him so he wasn’t alone. Even under the influence I couldn’t be left to my own devices, my own feelings.

“In some ways, betrayal is inevitable. When our bodies betray us, surgery is often the key to recovery. When we betray each other, the path to recovery is less clear. We do whatever it takes to rebuild the trust that was lost. And then there are some wounds, some betrayals…that are so deep, so profound that there is no way to repair what was lost. And when that happens, there’s nothing left to do but wait.”

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